


Because I Ache

by Wyle23



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Pre-Shippuden, Sakura will actually learn things, Sakura-centric, and author has enough extra curricular nonsense to remedy as is, early canon-divergence, genjutsu Sakura, no infatuation, suiton Sakura, triangles are for geometry, useful Sakura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2018-10-15 07:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyle23/pseuds/Wyle23
Summary: Ugly are the truths of the world. Hate's competitor can jail just as blindly. Focused otherwise, though, what changes would her shift in truth bring? In which Konoha's young jinchuuriki stumbles upon not a Hyuuga, but a Haruno. [REWRITTEN]





	1. The Park

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this idea floated in my head for a good while, and one day it aggravated me enough to write words. Here are the fruits of my giving in. Never written anything of this sort before, so I'm all ears for what'cha peeps think.

Little five year old Naruto can’t help but laugh out loud, the young kid making his way down the streets of Konoha whilst carrying a bucket of orange paint that’s relatively fresh in its use for his most notorious prank: painting the Hokage Monument. He doubles over slightly this time, though, almost failing to stifle his amusement and sloshing a bit of the can’s contents onto the ground.

Images of his actions fly by in his mind. Each and every slap, swipe, and extensive drag of the paint brush upon every single face. Old Man Gramps' new set of fluffed eyelashes and “mascara” – all of the same vivid, bright orange – being his favorite of the four painted faces.

The consideration brings him great joy, counter to his dismay at losing the brush earlier. But when the head of pink hair and matching lipstick runs through Naruto’s head, he’s unable to stifle his laughter any longer.

“That’ll teach ‘em the name Naruto Uzumaki! Future Hokage!” Naruto laughs out in declaration. He pumps out a fist toward the horizon as the paint can lets out another slosh of its contents.

“Believe it!”

Lowering the fist, he grins widely and turns into a familiar alleyway.

“I should probably hide out for a while,” he grudgingly concedes to himself. So after chuckling for just a bit more, Naruto turns more thoughtful. He slows to a stop and puts a hand to his chin.

‘ _Hmm…_ _let’s see…’_ ponders the little boy.

Ichiraku’s is the first place to come to mind. Saliva begins to build at just the thought alone, slides of Miso Ramen going by in Naruto’s head. At least until he shakes his head to free himself of the fantasies.

‘ _Naah,’_ Naruto declines, _‘too obvious.’_

Crossing his arms, the boy frowns while he thinks on where to go. Swishing paint is ignored.

“Hmmm.” Naruto’s face contorts unhappily, nothing good enough coming to mind.

Until…

“That’s it!” shouts Naruto, smacking his holding fist into a free palm.

The park.

Sure, it’s not exactly his favorite place – far from it – but if he wants to stall his punishment, that’s the last place they’d think to look.

Simply put, he hardly visits. It’s just a physical reminder of what he lacks. A togetherness all other children always have. A togetherness he doesn’t have.

Never can have.

His eyes widen when he realizes the grip he’s got on the bucket handle. He eases it off. Though there’s a wetness on his face, too, that he can feel from the gentle wind.

So he wipes the unwanted tears away, deciding with a rejuvenated, wet smile that he will first hide at the park for a little bit and then go to his favorite ramen stand.

Through the town Naruto walks, taking care with his route to avoid ninja that may be looking for him. And the hateful eyes of the villagers.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s just another day. Just another one of bullying. Constant bullying, and by the usual group of two. Always the same thing.

Her enormous forehead.

How it can’t be hidden. That it can block a falling tree. That it’s apparently, to her internal dismay, _half of her face._

The sob that last insult forces out of the little girl is overtaken by the other two’s laugh at it.

Sakura begs them to please leave her be, to just let her wallow alone in misery on the walkway, but it seems to only encourage. Before she knows it, one girl is pulling her pink bangs up to reveal their area of interest on Sakura’s face, making her cringe and look up.

The pull isn’t harsh, but it doesn’t need to be. Their snide insults are more than enough.

Worst of all, she’s as far from a pretty crier as it gets. Snot and healthy streams of tears run down to her scrunched chin. Sakura sputters to get the thick, salty wetness off her lips, but her heavy sniffles only make the down-flow worse, renewing the gross taste.

“ **HEY, UGLIES!”** shouts the loudest voice she’s ever heard, easily overtaking the girls’ insulting ones.

Blatant silence follows, and Sakura comes out of her wince to open a blurry-visioned eye. She still tries to look at the one that shouted, but little else than the color of his clothing and skin-tone are discernible.

Noticing that the girl let her go, Sakura reaches up with a hand to wipe at her eyes. A few times is enough, and she opens them to see the two mean girls taking a few steps back from her, all their focus directed at the boy. Curious, she blinks groggily, turning toward him as well.

Sakura’s eyes widen; her upper body jerks backward.

He’s _running. At them_.

His angry snarl makes her still. Yet her owlish eyes take notice of him having something in his hands. Something he’s thrusting out. Something containing a liquid. A _very_ orange liquid.

 _Bright_ orange.

Sakura gasps in a short breath at the thick mess that’s soaring through the air for her general direction.

Closing her eyes, Sakura cringes hard, wishing she could just _disappear_ into thin air, because–

Shrill screams to her side have Sakura cringing less miserably; her face scrunches up at the obnoxious noise.

When silence resumes, she pops open one damp eye, the other doing so right after.

The two girls are drenched and dripping orange paint. Their monochrome expressions are aghast with closed eyes. They spread their arms out to their sides, gaping partially as paint drips from all over themselves.

Congested giggles escape Sakura despite her previous misery. They sprout further, flitting past her lips while she watches the two girls break out into dramatic cries toward the sky. In the next moment, they take off, wiping at their crying eyes and wailing for their parents help. An urge to point rises in her as she watches them go, literally covered in orange; but Sakura merely giggles further, instead wiping at one of her eyes as a small sniffle partially clears her nostrils.

“Hey, you okay?”

Shocked wide-eyed, Sakura turns and is met with the sight of a boy leaning down toward her. She immediately pulls back from the kid, startled by his closeness.

“H-Huh?” she stutters out, looking at the rather haggardly dressed kid. He’s wearing a white shirt and orange pants, both of which are marred by plentiful splotches of what she assumes to be paint.

But her attention ascends the array of colors that messily dot and line his clothing. Instead, she finds a hesitant smile and whiskered... cheeks. A pair of three thin black slashes that earn a moment of puzzlement before her focus drifts up to blues that stare at her greens. Eyes a shade of cerulean that seem to glow. Almost… warm.

“Here,” he says, smiling wider at her and offering… his hand.

Someone is…

Sakura gapes at the gesture, unbelieving.

Tears nearly start to fall again as her hand dares to reach for the boy’s. Though they do break from her eyelids when her hand makes contact, his grabbing hold of her paler one and helping her up.

“Thank you,” Sakura timidly says to him. She’s unable to meet his gaze, however, once more quite aware of her messy state. Particularly the drying boogers.

She can only imagine how ugly she must look. A giant forehead covered in salty wetness and snot.

“No problem!” answers her savior, nearly shouting. She looks up to see him giving her a bright smile to match his jovial tone. He’s even giving her a thumbs up.

The smile lessens and he drops his arm. He looks toward the direction the girls ran in, allowing her a quick glance at his cheek. “Boy, watching them run screaming sure was fun, huh?” His question ends on a close-eyed snicker.

“Mhmm” murmurs Sakura in agreement. Her lips pull up as she recalls the moment. Again she giggles, managing a small laugh while following his gaze and replaying how those two meanies ran off covered in orange paint.

When she regards the blond again, though, he’s eyeing her intently. Heat creeps right up her cheeks. Her head can’t turn down and lower fast enough to hide her radiating face behind pink hair.

She clamps her eyes shut. Her chin scrunches more and more with each second as she waits for the insu–

“You’re pretty.”

It’s whatever comes after the last thing the girl ever expected to hear. Her head jerks right back up to look at him. His smile is back, but nervous. The upward curve falters, and… and he’s _blushing_.

Her mouth opens. Not a sound leaves it, and in a moment, her lips manage to come together again.

No one, save for her parents, _ever_ called her such. Nothing even _close_ to “pretty”. One look at her, and she’s automatically “the girl with the forehead.” Always and, she previously thought, forever.

“P- _Pretty?_ ” she whispers in utter, daring disbelief. The heat she feels burning on her cheeks helps so little… though his rising pinkness sort of does.

“Well,” begins the boy, raising a hand to scratch behind his head nervously, “yea–“

“THAT’S HIM!” shouts two very familiar, very unwelcome voices that quickly earn their attention.

Those girls are a short distance away, approaching. They’re still covered in paint, of which looks to have dried somewhat; but they’re not without adults this time. Alongside them are unhappy parents and a couple shinobi.

“Crap,” mutters the boy, earning Sakura’s eyes. He’s grimacing at the group. But his worry bleeds away into a grin that he directs at her. She barely manages a wobbly smile by the time he gives her a small wave, a quick bye leaving his lips before he darts off in the opposite direction as the pointing girls.

Sakura’s smile broadens a little. His arms sway overtly, and every rapid step kicks up dirt from his heels. A stuffy chuckle leaves the pinkette.

“ **Naar-rru- _tooo!_ ”** calls one of the shinobi giving chase. He’s a man with dark skin and brown hair tied up into a spiky pony-tail. His speed makes it hard to make out many other details, but Sakura also isn’t paying much attention to him anymore.

Her wide smile lessens into a warm, pleasant one as the boy – Naruto – goes…

A sensation of dull heat blankets her. Yet her hand finds purchase on a specific area of her green shirt. Sakura recalls his vibrant eyes, and how he smiled awkwardly, blushing, even, after calling her _pretty_ , half-forehead or not.

Little Sakura tries to stare longer, but her nose is becoming a real problem, and it’s leaking. She sniffs the snot back up, immediately cringing at the feeling _that_ gives.

She almost lifts a hand to wipe at her nose with her sleeve.

A nasal whine leaves the girl. She catches sight of the two girls, though, and takes in their state. The paint on them is now damp. Crusting. Cracking and falling off in areas that have managed to dry enough.

And then the snot starts edging its way out again. Sakura pouts, groaning. The noise is greatly affected by mucus in her throat; however, she’s more concerned with her nose at the present, and she narrows her eyes down at it right as snot starts to yet again drool –

Sakura wriggles her nose, reluctant to solve the problem the same way again.

Her hand lifts again. It pauses again. But this time its just a brief pause, and she presses a finger to one side of her nose, blushing terribly. Closing her eyes, she blows, and then quickly repeats the action with the other side.

It feels utterly better at once. She can _breathe_. She does just that.

Yet Sakura can’t help taking another glance at the girls. They’re looking at her with disgusted sneers.

They look away from her. Sakura blinks a few times.

She looks away as well, back to her front, and gasps to find someone near her again. This person, however, she immediately recognizes. The color and look of their outfit lays her wariness at ease, though when she sees her father’s face, her frown returns.

He’s frowning at her. It’s a look she hadn’t expected, and the depth of his worried displeasure startles her.

His frown lessens a bit. Comfort returns, and he puts a hand on her shoulder.

According to him, it will have to be the first and last time she hangs around the blond kid. She can’t resist asking, “Why?”

His smile and chuckle are forced, but he smiles at her, finding it easier to tell her they’ll discuss it at home with her mother. As they always do. “As a family.”

His daughter’s always been so curious. But this is one question he and his wife will not be enjoying.

She keeps her hand from the spot to keep her father happy. Even though the warmth persists the entire way home. It dims, greatly even, but still remains as a lukewarm hope to meet the blond boy again. To talk, play, run around in the forest maybe.

What does he do for fun? She guesses painting might be one of his activities; is orange his favorite color? Does he like plants, animals, or maybe bugs? Even if some are pretty disgusting and scary. Is he interested in the ninja arts...? If so has he heard of the Sannin, particularly Tsunade Senju? Are one or both of his parents perhaps shinobi?

These muses and more are replaced by striking doubt the moment Mebuki’s eyes widen at the news from her husband. Sakura’s smile crumbles at the ends, lowering into a sort of forced pleasantness as her eyes look to the floor.

Mebuki’s lips thin at her daughter’s false smile, and she catches Sakura’s eyes when she looks back up. Mebuki approaches her daughter. Her resolve cracks when such a small frown finally shows her daughter's sadness, and she feels herself hesitate, however briefly, before those gaps seal, solidify, and her foot plants itself to the floor so she can do what is required.

Sakura seems to ease when Mebuki puts her hands on both of her daughter’s shoulders. The change puts a minor smile on Mebuki.

She kneels down in front of Sakura. Her expression turns somber; Sakura stands straight, tilting her head with a frown, waiting for Mother to speak.

“Sakura. It would be best for you to avoid that boy.” Sakura’s brows draw together as her frown deepens. The lack of understanding is clear as her daughter’s desire to ask something; however, there can be no questions on this matter.

Mebuki leans in toward her daughter's confused frown.

She raises her hands to her five-year-old daughter’s hair, gently resting them on the temple that seeks so much knowledge, instilling such pride in her. From her first words, ability to read, and especially now.

This brighter shade of jade will not lie blocked by lifeless lids. They’re so diligent in their curiosity. To understand. To get clarification – _reason_.

Happiness blooms in the form of a small smile on her daughter’s youthful features, and Mebuki bitterly notes there’s an unsure undertone to the joy. Her thumb brushes across her daughter’s pale, soft cheek, still so plump, as eyes so wide with trust look at her.

Mebuki’s gaze turns stern. Her eyes do not narrow so much as they focus more intently on her daughter’s brighter shade of green.

“He does not look like it, but he is very dangerous.” Sakura’s frowning, and her eyebrows are drawn inward. Disappointment radiates in her eyes. “You should never be near him, young lady.”

Her gentle voice holds finality. At which Sakura’s eyes drop, but Mebuki needs them. Needs this to be clear more than anything. So she maneuvers a hand to her daughter’s chin, gently lifting her head to regain eye contact.

“Promise me, Sakura. Promise me you will stay away from that boy.”

Her solid words blockade any question. Her precious blossom blinks; moisture appears in her eyes.

“I promise, Mama.”

 


	2. Holding On

"Do you promise not to tell?"

Ino is somewhat surprised by the so-quiet, timid tone of the question. Her friend's eyes are even lowered to the ground, and her head droops a little as her cheeks light up.

Nonetheless!

"Of course! We're friends, right, Sakura?" poses Ino happily, an inquiring tilt to her head. She then lowers her head to try and get a better view of the pinkette's face. Though much of it is blocked by pink hair, Ino is happy to see Sakura's timid, unsure frown pull into a small smile.

' _Girl needs to get some confidence...'_

"Yeah," replies Sakura, looking up at her friend. She nods in agreement, and her smile broadens into a truer one.

The expression is short-lived, however, as Sakura's lips suddenly thin out into a dreadful line. Redness bleeds up her cheeks, and the pinkette drops her gaze back to the ground.

Smiling kindly at the once-so-shy girl, Ino reaches out for her friend's hand, grasping it. Sakura tenses in surprise from the gesture, eyes going to her hand before darting back up to Ino's pale blues. The Yamanaka keeps her eyes locked onto Sakura's.

"If you don't want anyone to know, I won't tell," Ino reassures softly.

She raises one finger from their joined hands to point at Sakura, and her soft grin morphs into a teasing smirk. "Besides, I already told you _mine,_ " tone light and silky for the word, "so it's only fair to share." Ino wags her risen index finger to and fro' for a bit.

' _Yeah,'_ Sakura quips, _'_ _but_ _yours is_ Sasuke. _'_ Handsome, sought after, _popular_ Sasuke Uchiha. Sasuke, whom apparently most girls seem to be in love with. Ino, too, as she'd just recently discovered.

 _Hers_ on the other hand…

Thinking of him alone is enough to get the feeling blooming in her chest. It's almost an ache, but pleasurable, and it always earns her hand's coverage.

Sasuke is a sight on the eyes, he is, but…

Sakura looks to the ground again, brows drawing together. Her lips pull down into a small frown. _'_ _I've never… felt like this before.'_

Just thinking the thought in front of Ino has Sakura going pink in the face again. The girl almost groans, having pictured his warm blue eyes.

' _And just when I got them to cool!'_ she internally sputters.

Ino, meanwhile, is somewhat caught in the grasp of wonder by the sight that has been Sakura thus far. Though she has a pretty good idea of who it is…

' _Forget that,'_ declines the girl with a deadpan as Sakura hangs her head a tad lower, _'I know_ exactly _who it is.'_ Sakura only gets this anxiously shy when feeling particularly self-conscious. Her friend's moments of closed-off timidness have lessened considerably in the two years they've known one another, but every now and then, Sakura does relapse.

But she'll wait. After all, there's the slim chance she's wrong, and it actually wouldn't be the first.

It's entirely possible that she might be misreading. And that the pinkette is _actually_ also–

"Huh?" Ino swiftly responds to a little peep from her friend. Excited, her smile bares teeth whilst she leans toward Sakura.

Another small attempt follows, and though this one manages to be lower, her head's proximity allows Ino to catch a definite R in the name. Which makes her lean in just a tad further. There's a sense of relief, too, as she feels there's enough competition as is on that romantic front.

" **Naruto."**

It's solid, completely breaks the Yamanaka's train of thought; and though Sakura's cheeks are brighter than her hair itself, Ino can see that the embarrassed, frowning girl is serious. Resolute with a slight pout, Sakura's hands fist at her sides, collecting portions of her red dress. And though the young Haruno is tense, visibly expecting some sort of backlash, Ino can't help it.

"I KNE–" Sakura's _friend_ begins to SCREAM for _ALL IN THE PARK TO HEAR._

Sakura can't jump fast enough to cover the ecstatic girl's mouth, eyes as wide as they've ever been in her young life; and if her cheeks heat up any worse than they are right now, she's certain she'll pass out.

And this is her _**friend!?**_

" _ **INO!**_ " the girl whisper-screams through her teeth.

Yes, she's holding on, but that doesn't mean _**everyone in the park**_ needs to know! _Least_ of all her parents. She already promised Mother. And the last thing she wants is a _worse_ repeat of that day's discussion. Once is enough for her heart.

Silently holding on is a lot easier when your hopes aren't being audibly crushed. It hurts less… and she's found that long and dreadful is better than brief and intense. Though when she managed to hear Naruto yell of his want to be Hokage one day, well, that had just made her a bit… irate. At her luck. Because she goes, too, and not one day of the academy has she missed thus far.

Her Inner introduced herself that day. So in addition to learning of her inner rage, craziness was tacked on.

Intense sullenness followed the discoveries… for some days… since crazy probably isn't exactly _attractive_.

Sakura's cheeks burn as Ino's lips turn up into a smile underneath her hand. She removes her covering appendage, suspicion lacing her narrowing eyes whilst she processes just what Ino had been about to yell out loud earlier.

"Wait, you _knew?_ " she asks with doubtful accusation, pink brows drawn somewhat together.

"Nooo," Ino sing-songs in utter innocence, dismissing Sakura's worries with a small wave. Her friend even scoffs with some kind of comical lightness – _failing to hide a smile_ – while doing it.

Yet there's a sly glint in her eyes, too. One that Sakura has seen many times before. Every time Ino teases her about her forehead.

Sakura's jade orbs narrow further.

Seeing the pointed look, Ino allows a full-blown grin to spread across her face, at which Sakura groans and immediately drops her head forward into two hands to hide her utter embarrassment.

"Aww, come on, Forehead, I was just kidding," reasons the Yamanaka, putting her hands on the pinkette's shoulders to assuage her friend.

Sometimes Sakura takes things a little too close to heart, though Ino knows why. Unlike Sakura's unorthodox love interest, she's seen the bullying her pink-haired friend has endured as a result of her looks.

Which makes Ino all the happier to recall seeing and hearing those two bratty girls running, aghast and wiping at their eyes. They were dripping orange paint from every inch of themselves, and thinking on it still gives her a good smile to this day. Unfortunately, all she arrived in time to see was the blond boy wave at her current friend before he took off with a couple of ninja chasing him…

And now, thanks in part – largely – to Sakura's recent admission, she's rather curious to know exactly what _did_ happen.

"Even if he is kind of a loser..." Ino can't help but mumble in distaste. Everyone knows it to be true. Plus, the kid is a downright troublemaker. Honestly, she can understand Sakura's embarrassment.

But the girl she's comforting stills under her hands, earning a curious tilt to the platinum blonde's head.

"Please don't call him that..."

Her friend's voice is small, even a bit shaky, but the whisper is firm as she nervously crosses her arms. Blinking in rapid succession, Ino's wide, mystified eyes stare at the girl in front of her, whom only blushes and keeps looking at the ground. The platinum blonde can only shake her head in amazement.

"Alright," concedes Ino, however hesitantly, "but you've gotta admit that he's a trouble-maker. I mean," snorting softly, "he's not exactly held in _high regard_." Whether or not her friend is aware, she doesn't know; but her sarcastic comment has definitely gotten the message across, judging by how Sakura's frown flattens just a bit.

Sakura, though, already knows this is true. She figured the cause of his notoriety _real_ quick with just one sighting of his work upon the _Hokage Monument!_ of all things. And as if that isn't bad enough, he apparently has a whole slew of other pranks that he enacts on a near-daily basis, which, of course, just makes it all the more apparent why he's so disliked.

It's… kind of annoying, admittedly. It must be. All the childish pranks and trouble-making. But worse is how he's treated, and those memories make Sakura frown deeply. Pink brows knit together as she glowers at the ground.

' _But they're… cruel,'_ thinks the girl, recalling clearly the faces that _everyone_ makes at Naruto. Anger and disapproval are highlighted around him, and she's seen the effect of this on him, seen how miserably alone it has left him. And every time, it sparks the same sick coldness to the pit of her stomach as the unfairness tightens in her gut, leaving her with but a dull pang in the end.

He's loud. Obnoxious, even, sure, but…

' _ **But that's**_ **no reason for it to be EVERYONE!** _ **'**_ roars a voice within her head. It's loud, lacks no amount of self-righteousness, and Sakura suddenly goes wide-eyed at the realization that she's been staring off into the distance for who knows how long. Then a hand waves in front of her face, making her jump marginally. In reaction, Ino quickly retracts the limb, raising a concerned brow at Sakura.

"You alright, Sakura?" asks Ino. Her eyes dart down at a formed pale fist and then back up again at the apparently oblivious girl. "You kinda spaced out for a bit there..."

Unfortunately, as Sakura already knows by now in their friendship, Ino is a perceptive girl. A horribly perceptive girl... _Horribly_ , because the moment Ino's eyes narrow into sly slits and her mouth forms a mischievous smirk – already having Sakura burning up as it is – the blonde proceeds to hit the nail right on the head with a simple cluck of her tongue and three knowing words: "Thinking about some **one?** "

"He.. He's nice!" Sakura defends, that spark warming just as much as her cheeks are.

"Fine," Ino begrudgingly allows, crossing her arms with a gentle huff.

A small, delicate smile blooms on her friend's lips, happy emeralds shining.

For all of two seconds.

"But Sasuke is _way_ nicer."

Sakura's expression shatters as her eyes go wide and her jaw drops open.

" _Is not_ , **Pig!** "

Ino's lips curl up just a measure before she spouts her own retort, the two youths starting up their usual banter.

And so brightens the girls' friendship.


	3. Effort

There he sits. The blond boy from that day.

Except unlike then, he’s not looking bright at all.

Sakura can’t see much of Naruto’s face from her angle, but the small droplets falling from it onto his lap are well perceived. His head hangs low, and a limp hand is holding onto one of the swing’s ropes. The other lie on his lap as the wooden seat moves not an inch within the shade of a tree.

No, all that moves is his head, Sakura knowing full well what the incremental shakes are from; and there’s a muted, angry mumble floating through her mind, almost like a quiet shout.

Never has she been _this_ miserable. So utterly alone.

 _Orphaned_ , even.

From her spot beside the concrete wall of a market, Sakura looks on, the tint on her cheeks dimming. Her jaw clenches as she recalls how she learned that particular detail about Naruto.

Never before has she felt such an urge to hit someone as the day she’d overheard that Ami girl stating it as if he _deserve_ _s_ it. Whatever was clenching in the pinkette hardly registered for more than a moment as fury burned to life under her skin in reaction. Sure, none of Ino’s competitors _ever_ had anything nice to say about Naruto – the few times he’s ever actually brought up – but **that** one had pushed it. _Far_. But it was the cruel, deprecating laugh that followed from Ami and her friends that spiked the rage, and she only got through one step before a grip on her shoulder broke the spell of anger.

If not for Ino’s prompt move, expression tensely blank with imploringly wide blues, Sakura is sure she’d have… _something_. However, mutual detestation for the girl in the two friends’ ensuing conversation ended up having to be enough, much to Sakura’s then disappointment.

Frowning with sudden worry, though, Sakura’s gaze darts behind her, looking down the alley at the market her father is within. He’ll be finishing. Probably soon, Sakura figures. However, a few seconds pass of him not leaving the entrance, and the girl nervously bites on her lower lip.

Her eyes go back to Naruto, a doubtful frown marring her face. She clenches a hand around the building’s concrete corner. Anxiety mixes with indecision as her mother’s stern face flashes across her mind, and she recalls how darker jade eyes almost bore into her own.

She’s never seen her mother so serious. Worried, even.

That and the promise she made keep Sakura rooted to her spot.

Deeply Sakura admires her mother. Looks up to her, having joined the academy in hopes of becoming a kunoichi like her. Their clan may not be renowned in any sense for the shinobi it produces – the occupation a rare choice within a predominantly mercantile clan – but few things bring greater joy and internal satisfaction than when Mother graces her with a tender smile of pride, the pinkette ever-studious in her academics.

Two more tears fall from Naruto’s face. Sakura’s jaw clenches again. Her eyes set behind a few stray locks of pink.

 _“You must cherish your friends, Sakura. They are precious assets in life,”_ rings her mother’s words in the pinkette’s mind, the girl remembering them from the day she told her parents of Ino.

Wholeheartedly does Sakura believe in her mother’s words. Her friendship with Ino only brightened her days, and she’s cherished it ever since. The Yamanaka is also the only person in her life that she can safely talk about her feelings with, the sole other to know of her secret affection. The one person she can unload those feelings to.

As well as the dilemma…

But Naruto could just as easily be a friend, though! What makes him so bad? Why can’t she be around him? Why hadn’t Mother at least let her _explain? What was the big deal?!_ Maybe he is a bit of a mischief-maker, maybe he is loud, _maybe_ he is… non-too-bright…

He still helped her. Made her _laugh_ when otherwise _miserable_. Those blushing blues were far from “ dangerous”, Sakura’s recollection of them strengthening her resolve.

 _‘Trouble-maker or not, this is **cruel** ,’_ she declares with rising revulsion , sick to her stomach of watching him cry his eyes out. Naruto can very well be a complete idiot for all she cares – not allowing the possible likelihood to get her down – because, _‘This –_ is – **NOT RIGHT!** _ **’** _

Inner is clenching an almighty fist within her dark world, the dual-colored limb proceeding to do so audibly. She’s taking _full_ advantage of her first breakthrough in a while, steadfast in abandoning all worries with this sad sight of whom will be **hers.**

 **She may not have gotten to sock that purple-haired wench in her disgusting face, but this time will be different, _‘_** _**Shannarō!'** _

**It’s time to make another** _**“precious asset!”** _

Sakura’s teeth grind in an effort to stifle her rising tint. Her emeralds sharpen, and she glares at the wall she hides behind. Hides behind while _he_ suffers, and _no one_ does anything.

A coldness seeps along her skin when she next look at him. It takes all the warmth of her body away, enhancing a gentle wind’s touch to a mild chill.

Still he is ignored.

The fist over her heart goes to her side as her other does the same.

Still he is ignored.

Taking in a deep, trembling breath, she exhales, the effort marginally calming her nerves.

Still ignored.

Her feet move, and nothing but him and those dropping tears registers clearly.

Ignored.

 _ **‘** **PUSH!’**_ demands Inner. Her flat palms shove outward in demonstration, passing through dark nothingness before the massive entity.

Sakura nods her fierce agreement. Her lips raise into a self-assured pout, and that tint is returning to her face; but she keeps going nonetheless, her usual red dress blowing with a gentle wind as she enters the wider ground. The cool touch helps to bring down Sakura’s low-key anxiety, her shoulder-length pink hair flowing pleasantly.

She does not see the trio of kids making their way over to the park from the opposite end of the area. Most notably the happily surprised platinum blonde, whom excitedly grabs Chouji by the scruff of his outfit and pulls slightly.

After securing his bag of chips beside himself _and_ managing to not fall mid-walk, his wide eyes look at Ino in utter confusion. Uncomprehending, Chouji tries to follow Ino’ s gaze, wondering what the sudden excitement could possibly be about. And he doesn’t need to look at Shikamaru to know the cloud-watcher is unamused, probably deadpanning at all of this.

Which Shikamaru very much is, the Nara turning as well to try and follow Ino’s focus as they three continue toward the park with their fathers trailing from far behind. His brown half-lidded eyes land on whom he knows to be Ino’s friend. One black eyebrow quirks at the confident stride she’s got going before he looks toward the Haruno girl’s direction of travel.

His eyes land on the back of a familiar orange jacket. The eyebrow juts further up.

To the platinum blonde Shikamaru looks again, taking in her ecstatic grin. Creases of thought form on his forehead.

“Wh–“ is as far as Chouji gets.

Ino slaps a hand over the chubby kid's mouth, an excited squeal threatening to escape her as she watches Forehead go. Neither of them needs to know, and the question would have been a waste anyways, as she'll never tell. Honestly, couldn't they just appreciate this wonderful moment that's about to unfold right before their ignorant eyes?

Nevermind _questions_ : _'Get that Uzumaki, Sakura!'_

Shikamaru’s lips thin and then pull down into a more blank deadpan when she starts to gently shake the Akimichi by his scruff with visibly restrained exhilaration.

Exasperated by this point, he sighs lazily, looking to the soft, _simple_ clouds for help.

The boy looks miserable. It is true. Kizashi does look to where his daughter is going, and he understands.

His daughter is kind. In any other circumstance, he might be proud.

No. He _would_ be proud. He _**is**_ proud. But just like his wife, Kizashi Haruno also saw the beast that ravaged their village for a time. Saw and felt its unfathomably dark and intense power. Remembers the beast’s immensity and how its mere presence shot pure fear into his body, making every hair stand on end.

He’s always been infinitely thankful for his wife’s non-involvement in direct combat with it during Mebuki’s participation in the necessary full-evacuation. Though that was _after_ the long, dreadful wait within the Hokage Monument’s underground tunnels, clutching his then-infant daughter to himself while the low rumbles of the Kyuubi’s attack went through the grounds.

Neither of them will ever chance this.

Sakura’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest the moment her father’s voice starts. She stops dead in her tracks as her eyes fly frightfully wide open. It takes her an agonizing moment to realize it was her name.

It’s rare that she hears her father use a hard tone, but she remembers it clearly from that day, though. That BITTER-sweet day.

Her hands flex overly as she turns toward her father, having not even realized they’re no longer fists. She knows what she’s afraid of, though, and calms them in a hurry as she meets her father’s somewhat narrow eyes. Usually they’re open and filled with a least some amount of humor. The stern expression contrasts heavily with his cherry-blossom styled pale pink hair. The mustache extending from his sideburns pulls down as t he frown deepens, and he crosses his arms.

Sakura averts her gaze to the ground from the disappointment in his stern expression.

Her mother’s reaction will be a different ordeal, she knows, walking toward her father. She was clear and unwavering about Sakura’s avoidance of “that boy.” Two words that Mother never used to refer to any other kid, and even if it was never said in anything but Mebuki’s then adamantly stern voice, Sakura still wonders why.

Though that came after she promised Mother to stay away from him. After the finish of the conversation. _After_ she made it to her room and let her tears run until dry.

The recollection brings a single salty tear down her cheek. She swallows a sob as she enters the alley.

Ino, though, is close enough to have heard Kizashi’s voice and recognize it, low as it had been from the distance. It wiped clean all the happiness she’d been feeling, replacing it with a frown. Chouji and Shikamaru wear similar looks, the former now free and still rather perplexed; however, Ino’s displeasure tugs harder on her lips.

She, too, knows of the memory. Had been told in detail a couple weeks following Sakura’s admission within the park. She was curious to know why the pinkette isn’t _doing_ anything, making a move, when she could clearly see Sakura _wants_ to. And boy did _**all**_ the reasons come tumbling out in the frustrated, angry, sad, miserable telling that followed...

Kizashi watches as a tear slides down his daughter’s cheek. Sees her lowered chin scrunch as her frown trembles. It’s more than enough to bring the familiar, yet almost foreign burn of hatred to his heart. Worry’s clench on his nerves twists another way, however, as he also despises the look on his daughter as much as that damned fox. It’s only worsened by him being the cause.

So it’s he, this time, that Sakura makes a promise of avoidance to. Alongside his own to not mention the events to her mother, after which Kizashi wipes the tears from his relieved daughters eyes before they hug.

But the next day, Ino is graced by the telling of another emotionally volatile day, turning them into _days_  as she holds onto her crying friend, trying to calm Sakura with desperate nice words and many hasty pats on the back.

Because she’s got a plan. She expected this whole ordeal sooner or later. Though Ino has to admit that her friend doesn’t waste time, the thought bringing a sly nature to her reassuring smile as she proposes the idea to her friend.

It isn’t the greatest thing, and Sakura is steadfast to make her vast agreement known.

“ **That** _**sucks**_ **, Pig!”** yells the pinkette through overbuilt snot. Her tone is sour, a mild whine mixed into her shout.

Sour is better than miserable, though, even if her ears are ringing...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter will be longer. And likely much more gen.


End file.
